


like a prayer // maggots (Bad Trip)

by Pearly_Pornography



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Body Horror, Crossdressing, Emetophilia, Gore, Just really weird in general, M/M, Maggots, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Surreal, Timeline What Timeline, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-10 13:08:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12912561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearly_Pornography/pseuds/Pearly_Pornography
Summary: "May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit."Romans, 15:13.





	like a prayer // maggots (Bad Trip)

**Author's Note:**

> more than anything this is an attempt to get back in the swing of writing, just by working from my surrealist roots. so this thing is weird, gross and not actually that sexy at all.

The convent was empty when the tab hit his tongue, legs each weighing him down, one cement block on every bone. The habit, clung tightly to his sandpaper skin, as rain fell indoors. The long dress fell halfway off his shoulders, carried by a corpse so scrawny, it hardly held itself up any longer. Skin both tight and loose, clammy, strung up against withered bone. The hole in the ceiling, where the stained-glass Jesus-es hung high, now cracked and on the floor. The Virgin Mary's eye crunched beneath his bare foot.

'Satan take me', a phrase written in teenage girls' diaries and on Lucifer Valentine DVDs, not uttered out loud, but left in thought. The devil sat on his throne of lies and toppled marble pillars, Eyes wild in the amorphous pile that was "him". His hair fell loose as he was stripped of his habit, curls falling in wild lumps, piled on top of his head. 

He had nothing to offer but himself. Which was an awful, awful offering. It was worse than offering nothing.

'But perhaps, this too, I can make use of'

It spoke without words, without mouth, without even sound. But he could comprehend it.

He was enraptured, and enveloped. Swallowed whole by the blackness. It rode just up below his belly, like an ocean, hiding his legs and feet. It slicked over his crotch, before finding its prize, sending pinpricks of pleasure up his curved spine. Back and forth. Like the rushing waves of the river Nile. He was being strung out.

God is in his heaven. All is right with the world.

His stomach swelled up and forced the goo back out. He retched, heaving once, twice, and then finally, allowing the inky, sticky mess to pass through his teeth, splattering across the carpeted floor. It tasted of bile, carrying unfinished pancakes and expired bacon in its gluey piles. To cleanse himself, just one more time, he fingered his uvula. It was a ritual he was all too familiar with, and the brackish full-body enema finally ran through his shaking body. Unbearable agony. The Devil's eyes fell from his nostrils, every orifice of his own face seeming to drip with strings of snot and spittle. He laid on his side. 

Hooks swung down from the ceiling, on strings. Piercing his skin as though he were a floundering fish. The skin pried open in straight lines, and green fluid squirted forth, like an effect in a low-budget zombie flick. Andreas Schnaas. A third hook buried its way in the soft spot of his skull, piercing his cerebellum and making the liquid fire out like an emerald geyser. 

Sitting the poor nun up on his knees, Satan hovered just over his crotch, dripping black onto his genitals. He tore away the flap of back-skin, releasing the maggots on the underside. They tried in vain to worm their way back through his quivering musculature, but the apparition snuffed them out and shoveled them into its numerous open mouth-holes. The third, it drew a line over his scalp and his brain, skull opening cleanly as though it was always meant to. He could feel every prod and push.

'Bugs, bugs, bugs. So much rotten meat attracts bugs, you know.'

Ripping fistfuls of expired prosciutto out of his head, the little larvae crawled and crawled endlessly, gnawing on the stinking meat lumps. Lucifer threw them this way and that, into the pews and onto the statue where Jesus wept. The blood stuck to his crucified figure, and the maggots crawled over his emaciated torso. Praise him, praise him, praise him. The shapeless pile laid itself over the nun's head, and all he could see were terrors. The utmost horrors, picking at his medulla and his pons and his pituitary alike. 

Tears sank into the blackness, roving the endless space that lived inside, everything hurt. 

He spewed blood into that space, and it floated within zero-g. His snot and tears and spit and blood, all colliding and hovering above the flat land, how it grasped at his legs, how he wanted to float away. 

And the Devil says,  _oh, brothers, let's go down. Let's go down, come on down._

And Jesus wept harder,  _oh, brothers, let's go down. Down in the river to pray._

And the nun's lips moved without their accord,  _as I went down in the river to pray, studying about that good old way,_

And the voices of his brothers screamed into his ears,  _who shall wear the robe and crown, good lord, show me the way._

The blackness pulled away. And it pulled away fast, and dove beneath the pews. His head, his back, were all together once more, and he was clothed, with habit and dress. His rosary hung just below his heart.

'But wait', he pleaded, 'I'm not clean yet'

'We'll finish tomorrow', said Lucifer, now a silhouette in a pew. 'We'll do it all over again.'

His stomach turned at the thought of seeing the abyss again.

'We'll do it again. And again, the next day, and the next, and every day after. Because you will never be clean so long as you are you. We'll do it again and again, brother. Because you are you, brother. You are insignificant as a maggot, brother.'

Like a prayer, and like a virgin, can you justify my love?

The fluttering of the moths around the candles was killed as they slowly burnt up. He felt like his skin was on fire. 

'Would you like another tab, brother? This time it might be a good trip.'

Only 11 more hours.


End file.
